A Taste for Vengeance

The air smells like gasoline and rain.

Vanessa is crouched on the rooftop, one eye pressed to the scope of her rifle. The city sprawls out beneath her like a dark, glittering beast, its veins glowing with traffic and neon lights. It’s loud and alive, just how she hates it—noisy cities get in the way of clean kills.

Her boss, Don Victor Santoro, didn’t give her a name. No story, no back-alley whispers. Just a face and a location. Victor is the man who’d pulled her out of the gutter when she was a scared, angry child. He gave her a name, a purpose, a gun. She owed him everything—or so she had convinced herself. So when he told her to do something, she had no choice but to do it.

“One clean shot. Don’t ask questions.” His voice is still clear in her mind.

She didn’t. She never does. Vanessa’s killed men without hesitation—fat, lazy bastards who thought their money could save them, low-level thugs who got too comfortable. They all dropped like flies, and she never lost a wink of sleep over it. She had been a professional hitwoman for as long as she could remember, so this, is meant to just be another day at the office.

But this job felt...different. She couldn’t place why...

Until she soon figures it out. As she focuses through her scope, she watches her target finally appear. He steps out of a black Lamborghini, her finger hesitates on the trigger.

It's him.

The target.

He’s young. Late twenties, maybe, with a face that doesn’t belong in this world. Strong jaw, messy black hair that’s a little too perfect, and a confident stride that screams, I own this city. He is broad-shouldered and muscular through his full black suit and black button-up shirt. He adjusts his watch—a sleek Rolex that catches the streetlight—and smiles at something the valet says.

He’s not what she expected...

And that bothers her...

Seeing him smile causes her heartbeat to pick up suddenly, making her squint her eyes through the scope.

Vanessa blinks hard, pulling herself back to the present. She steadies her breath, adjusts the scope, and sets her aim on his chest. It would take a heartbeat—less than that. The bullet would rip through him, clean and quiet, and she’d pack up and vanish before his body hit the sidewalk.

So why isn’t she pulling the damn trigger?

Her heartbeat is louder than the city now, pounding in her ears. Her hands are steady, but her gut twists like something’s wrong. She’s never hesitated before.

“Focus,” she mutters under her breath.

She exhales slowly, finger curling tighter around the trigger.

He stops. Turns his head.

Vanessa freezes. He’s not looking at her—he can’t see her—but for a split second, it feels like he knows. Like he’s staring straight through the shadows, through her.

Her pulse quickens. This isn’t working. She needs a new angle.

Vanessa shifts off the scope and grabs her earpiece. The radio crackles as she clicks it on. “Boss,” she says, her voice low and controlled. “No clean shot. Too much activity out here. I need permission to get closer.”

There’s silence on the other end, just static. Then Victor’s voice comes through, smooth as ice and twice as cold.

“What did you just say?” His voice rings out and Vanessa exhales quietly, already aware of her boss' temper.

“I can’t take him from here. It’s too exposed. I’ll cause a scene.” Vanessa answers carefully, trying her best to control his reaction.

“You’re telling me you can’t do your job, Vanessa? That’s what I’m hearing?” He snaps.

Vanessa grits her teeth. “I didn’t say that. I’m asking for permission to get closer. I’ll go into the club.”

There’s a pause. Then Victor chuckles, soft and dangerous. “You’re hesitating, aren’t you? What, you getting sentimental? A pretty face making you weak?”

“No,” she snaps. “I’m being smart. You want it done clean? Let me do it my way.”

Victor’s voice drops, sharp and accusing. “You don’t question me, Vanessa. I tell you to shoot, you shoot.”

The line goes quiet again, his words hanging heavy in the air. For a second, she thinks he’s going to say no. Then, finally, he exhales.

“Fine. Do it your way,” he says. “But don’t fuck this up, or you’ll answer to me.”

The radio clicks off, leaving Vanessa alone with the city noise and the sinking weight in her stomach. She swallows hard, grabs her duffel bag, and starts packing up her rifle.

“Answer to you,” she mutters under her breath. “Like I haven’t been doing that my whole damn life.” She snaps right before she angrily takes the earpiece out of her pocket and shoves it into her bag. If this is going to work, she will need to go off the radar until the job is complete...

. . . . .

Vanessa steps out of the cab twenty minutes later, her heels clicking against the wet pavement.

She’s traded her black tactical gear for a slick, mid-thigh-length black dress that clings to every curve. The slit up the side flashes glimpses of her legs as she moves, and the dip into her cleavage shows off her powerful sex appeal. She has on her signature red lipstick—sharp, blood-red—drawing attention to her full mouth. Her hair, pitch black, falls in loose waves to her waist, and her grey eyes are sharp, cold, and deadly.

The dress, the makeup. She thought it was all a way to add spice to her job. She knows how to use her talents and, and knows that the best way to get close to a man is to let him underestimate you...

The line outside La Bella Notte stretches down the block, but Vanessa walks straight to the front, her stride confident and powerful. She locks eyes with the bouncer, a hulking slab of muscle who looks like he’s never smiled in his life.

He scans her up and down, lingering just a little too long. “Name?” His deep voice rings out.

Vanessa tilts her head, letting the corner of her mouth curve into a smirk. “Do I look like I need one?” Her voice sultry and seductive as she eyes him.

The bouncer hesitates, eyes narrowing, but her confidence throws him off. He mutters something under his breath and steps aside. “Go in.”

Easy. As per usual.

She smiles at him before she strides through the doors like she owns the place, the thump of bass-heavy music washing over her as she begins to scan her surroundings.

Inside, La Bella Notte is all sleek marble floors, dark leather furniture, and chandeliers dripping with crystal. The air is thick with perfume, alcohol, and the kind of wealth that reeks of dirty money. Men in tailored suits crowd the tables, cigars in hand, while women in red and gold laugh like they’re having the time of their lives.

Vanessa scans the room, her eyes locking on her target almost immediately.

He’s at a corner table, surrounded by three men—bodyguards, judging by their stiff posture—and a girl draped over his arm like a fur coat. But he doesn’t look at her. He’s leaning back in his chair, a glass of whiskey in hand, smirking at something one of his men says.

The sight of him makes Vanessa’s pulse tick up. She can’t shake the feeling she had earlier—like there’s something about him that doesn’t fit...

Get it together, she tells herself. You’re not here to figure him out. You’re here to kill him...

She makes her way to the bar, hips swaying just enough to draw attention. Men’s gazes follow her, but she ignores them. She's not here for them.

She reaches the bar, leaning over the counter as her eyes land on the bartender, a smile appearing on his lips as soon he sees Vanessa.

"What'll it be beautiful?" he asks.

“Vodka. Neat,” she tells the bartender.

As she waits, she risks another glance at her target. And this time, he’s looking right at her...

Their eyes lock across the room, and for a split second, Vanessa forgets how to breathe. He tilts his head, like he’s trying to place her. Then he smirks—slow and deliberate—and raises his glass in a mock toast.

She then picks up the glass and poses in front of the counter, locking gazes with him and smiling at him, raising her glass back up to him.

But she didn't need to do that. Why did she do that...

This job should be simple.

As she watches him watching her, Vanessa feels it again—that hesitation. That flicker of doubt that whispers:

Why do you care what happens to him?

She doesn’t have an answer.

And that scares her more than anything.

That's when the unthinkable happens.

He stands up and slowly makes his way towards her, his bodyguards separating to make a way for him, just before they begin following after him closely.

This isn't what she was expecting...